Sunday, July 24, 2005

The Coldplay Blog

Chris Martin and Gwyneth: An Authorized Adventure.Tall, lithe Chris Martin was lounging at his home in Belsize Park, thinking about a new song for his pop group, Coldplay, when a small knock came at the door. Though he was listening to Radiohead on his iPod at the time, seeking inspiration, he was so attuned to his environment that he sensed the outsider’s presence immediately.

Removing his headphones and glancing up, he noticed his wife, slender Gwyneth Paltrow, star of SKY CAPTAIN AND THE WORLD OF TOMORROW among other films, enter the room. Intuitively, he could tell she was concerned as well, even though her brow was unfurrowed. The nanny, tall brunette lesbian Eleanor Foster, followed in her wake, carrying the sleeping child, Apple (Apple of my eye, thought Chris Martin with an inward smile).

Gwyneth asked the obvious question, “Who is it, darling?”

“Only one way to find out,” said Chris Martin grimly. He unfolded his long legs, and headed for the door.

Opening it, he was surprised to see Noel Gallagher, of the pop group Oasis. He seemed ill-at-ease and angry.

“Lo, Chris Martin,” he muttered.

“Noel!” Chris Martin knew that Noel Gallagher viewed Coldplay as a deadly rival to Oasis in the highly-competitive popular music scene. His presence at Chris Martin’s doorstep came something as a shock. “Come in,” a puzzled Chris Martin said, stepping aside, “Come in.”

Gwyneth, ever the hostess, chimed in: “Would you like a spot of tea, Noel? A pint, perhaps?”

“Nothing for me, ma’am,” the sullen rocker responded, entering.

“A healthy macrobiotic snack? Or I could make some flounder with miso sauce. Or some bangers and mash? I know how you lads like to indulge now and then.”

“I’m fine, me,” Noel said.

“Sit down, sit down,” said Chris Martin, gesturing towards the couch.

Noel sank into the leatherette Milano, and sighed.

“It’s Liam,” he said.

Chris Martin and Gwyneth exchanged a knowing look.

“Oh Noel,” Gwyneth uttered sympathetically, sitting down in one of the twin loungers.

“Talk to us,” said Chris Martin.

“I dunno.” Noel ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe it’s because we was so skint coming up. Insecurity and that. But we were both wild boys.”

“Yes,” agreed Gwyneth, softly.

“We have a new record,” Noel said. “Liam’s doing all right now, but I’m afraid he’ll go back to his wild ways.”

“He gets bored easily,” ventured Chris Martin.

“Oh yeah. The silly twat might headbutt a promoter, for example,” Noel said. He held up a hand, and added, “Nothing wrong with that, done it myself. But what if he does it in front of the fans? Or what if he doesn’t show up at a show?”

“Even if he does, he could headbutt a fan,” offered Gwyneth.

Noel concurred: “He can be fookin’ barkin’, on occasion.”

“So you’re being proactive,” nodded Gwyneth, approvingly.

Chris Martin, who had been looking out the window thoughtfully, turned and said: “I think we can help you, Noel.”

“That would be brilliant,” Noel said. “Maybe I’ll have that pint after all, then, ma’am.”

It was just a week later that Noel, accompanied by his younger brother Liam, once again knocked at the front door of the handsome front man of Coldplay and his lovely actress bride.

The door opened. Gwyneth Paltrow, beaming a radiant smile, stood before them. She gestured to the room behind her as she stepped aside.

As they entered, they heard a disembodied voice.

“What am I doing, swanning about like a fooking wanker? Like that fat whinging bastard Robbie Williams? I want to get fooking hammered and freak people out. And I don’t mean the bloody fooking Yanks. They can kiss my stinky white arse. If this is rock ‘n’ roll, I’ll be at home with me feet up, totally monged, watching LOVE ME, LOVE MY KIDS. Russell Crowe, that’s my role model.”

Liam cocked his head and frowned. He asked, “Who’s this chuff?”

The tall slender figure of Chris Martin filled the doorway. He was chuckling.

“Hiya Liam,” he said.

“Chris Martin,” acknowledged Liam.

“Do you remember an interview you did a few days ago with a student newspaper reporter?”